


Cropped Up

by ChampagneSly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smutty smutty PWP involving leather gloves and a riding crop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cropped Up

“I kinda love the Royal Ascot,” Alfred says as Arthur shuts the hotel room door and strips the long, red coat that’s part and parcel of the pomp and circumstance of riding in as part the Queen’s entourage.   
  
Arthur tosses his coat at Alfred, expression sour with disbelief when he mutters, “That enamored of ridiculous hats, are you?”   
  
Alfred smirks, rakes his gaze up Arthur’s body and licks his lips, “Nah. There are other parts of the whole get-up that make me all…enamored.”   
  
“Is that so?” Arthur’s expression shifts from disbelief to calculated amusement in the seconds it takes Alfred to drop the fancy red jacket on the floor and put his newly empty hands on hips clad in the pristine white breeches that leave so little the imagination Alfred’s been thinking about the curve of Arthur’s ass for hours and hours. Arthur raises a gloved hand to his face, taps leather fingers against Alfred’s lips and says, “Tell me more.”   
  
“This for one.” Alfred laughs, dips forward to kiss Arthur’s tiny smile of delight, trails kisses down his throat until he reaches the buttoned-up collar that makes Arthur seem so proper. He wets the collar with lips and tongue, worries the starched folds until Arthur’s rocking into the splay of his hands and breathing just a little bit faster. “Anyone would see this and think you were a real gentleman.”   
  
“Are you implying otherwise?” Arthur says coolly, reaching up lightening quick to pinch Alfred’s chin between thumb and forefinger.

Alfred likes the drag of leather against his jaw, likes the narrowing of Arthur’s eyes when he flicks his tongue out to taste.   
  
“And if I am?” Alfred slips his hand from Arthur’s waist to the wrist that rests loosely at Arthur’s side, seeking out the curl of Arthur’s fingers around the riding crop that was his favorite part of the whole ridiculously sexy get-up. He grins, raises his eyebrows as high as Arthur’s and taunts, “What are you gonna do about it?”   
  
Alfred feels his cock harden as he watches the flash of surprise and hunger on Arthur’s face smooth into a perfect painting of control and lust. He wants to lean forward and bite the stern twist of Arthur’s lips and promise him that this game is going to be so damned good. But this is the moment when he has to wait, has to hold still and let Arthur come to whatever conclusion he wants to read in the jut of Alfred’s cock against his hip and the way Alfred just can’t stop touching the handle of the crop.   
  
“I’ll teach you some manners,” Arthur says lowly, digging his thumb into Alfred’s jaw and pushing his finger into the easy, ready, parting of Alfred’s mouth. The leather tastes of salt and luxury as it slides over his tongue and rubs his lips. Alfred sucks eagerly on the finger until Arthur shakes his head and exhales roughly. Alfred stills and  Arthur flicks his wrist, shaking free of Alfred’s hold to press the crop against Alfred’s throat and crush their mouths together.   
  
Alfred falls into the kiss with enthusiasm, lets Arthur bow him into submission with the sugar-harsh press of lips, the nip of teeth and the slip-slide of tongue to tongue. Arthur kisses him until his mouth feels stung and his lungs ache with a breathless sweetness he feels from the tips of his fingers to the swell of his cock. He gives in to the push of the crop and the commanding flex of Arthur’s hands on his shoulders, guiding him down-down-down, until he’s on his knees with the tip of the riding crop beneath his chin and Arthur regal, glorious and hard above him.   
  
“Shirt off,” Arthur demands, stroking the side of Alfred’s face with the edge of the crop.   
  
Alfred licks his lips, wonders what will happen if he refuses, and because he’s always been given to testing the waters when it comes to the chain of Arthur’s command, shakes his head in a slow, teasing, “No.”   
  
The crop’s soft slap against his throat stings, a little tickle that makes him swallow a shocked moan. Arthur bends down and cups his face, caresses his cheeks with his gloved hand and touches his lips to Alfred’s ear to murmur, “That will cost you, my impudent little wretch.”    
  
Alfred stifles the urge to ask if that’s a promise, but he suspects Arthur sees the tease in the quirk of his lips because the crop bites into his throat, threaded leather rough and angry against his Adam’s Apple. Arthur kisses him again, seduces him into good behavior with the threat of the crop and  the reward of the deep, slow curl of his tongue.   
  
“Shall we begin again?” Arthur asks, turning on his heel without waiting for an answer while Alfred struggles to breathe and watches the slow roll of Arthur’s hips as saunters away, leaving Alfred waiting and wanting on his knees.   
  
“Strip.” Arthur says in a tone that Alfred imagines once commanded armies across battlefields, that Alfred knows has brought down empires. Arthur settles on the bed with the crop resting on his spread thighs, looking so regal and goddamned gorgeous that Alfred wants to crawl naked across the room, bury his head between Arthur’s legs, and pledge the undying fealty of his heart.   
  
And because he’s always been a fan of spur of the moment decisions, Alfred does just that: pulls his shirt over his head and rids himself of shoes, socks, pants and boxers with hands that rush just a little too much to be anything other than obvious about how much he likes this. He keeps his eyes on the riding crop, lets Arthur see the way he licks his lips and drags his fingers over his cock before he drops to his hands and knees to wait for Arthur to tell him what to do next.   
  
Arthur says nothing, makes him wait for two long minutes because Arthur is a bastard who is given an inch and takes a mile, but Alfred has always had ways of getting his way when it comes to Arthur. He braces on one arm, smirks at Arthur and puts a hand on his cock, stroking once-twice-three times and noisily sighs, “Please, sir.”   
  
Arthur’s filthy little moan is enough to make his balls tighten, but when Arthur cracks the riding crop against his gloved palm and snaps, “Come here at once,” Alfred has to bite his lip to resist the urge to come all over his fingers.   
  
Alfred’s knees ache as he crawls to Arthur, but it doesn’t matter as soon as there are fingers tangled in his hair that push his cheek against Arthur’s cock beneath those pretty, white pants that Alfred wants to get all dirty. Alfred licks the seam of the pants that fit Arthur so well he’s going to be thanking God for snooty English traditions for days. Arthur rolls his hips, just a little, just enough so Alfred’s mouth is parted hot and wet against the base of his cock. He rubs his nose up the shaft, parts his lips and moans all needy and low, gratified when Arthur pulls his hair and glares at him.   
  
“I think not. You have yet to earn such privileges,” Arthur informs him coolly, pressing the flat end of the crop against his cheek and pushing him slowly, slowly away. “Shall I give you a chance to prove yourself?”   
  
Alfred wants to take the tip into his mouth, to suck and bite until he can’t taste anything but leather, but he trusts Arthur to know what he wants when he gets in moods like these and instead nods dutifully.   
  
“Excellent. How quickly you learn.” Arthur smiles at him and taps his shoulder with the crop. “Turn around, love.”   
  
The endearment warms him almost as much as the sudden snap of the crop against the backs of his thighs. The surprise of his moan echoes in the quiet, pristine hotel room and Alfred can’t help but look over his shoulder to see Arthur staring at him with open, unreserved desire. The heat in Arthur’s gaze, the flush on his face that matches the tingling flush on his thighs, and the way Arthur slides the riding crop between his gloved fingers has Alfred swallowing and spreading his knees a little wider because he’s greedy enough to need more of what Arthur so clearly wants to give.   
  
Arthur inhales sharply, bites his lip and strikes Alfred’s thighs two more times on each leg. Alfred groans, bowing his head towards the carpet and bracing himself for the wicked, delicious slap of leather against his ass. Arthur murmurs to him, says things Alfred can’t hear over the crack of the crop and the sharp, sobbing little moans that bubble out of his throat while Arthur turns his skin a sweet stinging-red. He wants to touch his cock, wants to cup his balls and tug, wants to feel the softness of pleasure with the sharpness of each swift slap.   
  
When his eyes begin to water and his legs begin to quiver, Arthur hushes him, says, “Easy now. You’ve done very well,” and slips the tip of the riding crop between his legs.   
  
Alfred bites his lip, struggles for enough control not to come all over the fancy carpet and endures the too gentle drag of the crop over his balls and up, up, up his cock. Arthur’s reward is a cruel tease that gives Alfred just enough touch to distract him from the stinging burn in his ass and his thighs, but not enough to stop him from rocking backwards, arching his back and rolling his hips to try to get more.    
  
“Be still,” Arthur says roughly, bringing the crop down on Alfred’s bottom. Alfred curses Arthur under his breath and digs his fingers into the carpet, closes his eyes and tries not to move while Arthur switches between caressing his cock with the crop and striking the backs of his legs with swift little blows.  
  
Its clever and horrible and wonderful, just like Arthur, and Alfred thinks he loves him a little more with each soft touch and snap-crack of leather. And when he feels the soothing brush of Arthur’s still gloved hands over the burning skin of his ass and the whisper of a kiss pressed to the tremble of his throat, Alfred knows the feeling is entirely mutual.   
  
“Stand up, dearest,” Arthur murmurs, kissing the hollow of Alfred’s shoulder before the warmth of his touch is gone entirely and Alfred’s left trying to stand on legs that shake way too tellingly for comfort. Arthur sits on the bed, the crop at his side, and smiles at him. “Get what you need and then come here.”   
  
Alfred shuffles towards the bathroom, stares at his wrecked expression in the mirror and wonders what Arthur feels when he sees Alfred’s red cheeks and the little rivulets of sweat that streak down his jaw and curl his hair. He considers dawdling in the bathroom but his cock aches almost as much as his sore thighs, and even though the idea of testing Arthur’s patience has a certain appeal, Alfred doesn’t think he wait much longer to get what’s he needed since the first moment he saw Arthur all trussed up in leather and silk.   
  
“On my lap,” Arthur commands roughly when he returns, lube in one hand and cock in the other. For once Alfred doesn’t need to be told twice, gingerly spreading his knees over Arthur’s thighs, licking his lips and grinning when he realizes that Arthur’s undone his pants and pulled out his cock. Alfred wants to touch it, wants to take Arthur in his mouth and swallow him until his throat burns like the backs of his legs, but Arthur stops him with two fingers curled beneath his chin. Arthur stares at him, licks his lips and murmurs, “Show me.”   
  
Alfred knows its against the rules, but there’s something so desperately hot in the idea of opening himself up while Arthur watches that he can’t help but steal a kiss from Arthur. For a moment, Arthur kisses him just as hungrily, sinking his teeth into Alfred’s smile and slicking his lips with his tongue, hands brushing up and down skin that’s still red-warm from the riding crop. Alfred groans into Arthur’s mouth, pushes down so their cocks slide together and he can feel just how much Arthur wants him, all sticky-wet with desire.   
  
Alfred almost laughs when Arthur tears himself away, struggling to glare but giving himself away because he can’t stop staring at Alfred’s mouth. Alfred touches a finger to his lips, pushes up on his knees and slicks his palm with lube before curling his hand around Arthur’s cock and stroking. Arthur’s hands knead his thighs while Alfred wets his fingers and reaches behind his back, hissing when he brushes against sore skin, to push two fingers against his ass.   
  
“Very good,” Arthur chokes, leaning back to prop himself on his elbows when Alfred’s hips jerk forward and his fingers slip inside. “Yes, my God, so good for me, aren’t you?”   
  
Alfred smiles sweetly, sighs a little and nods because he’s addicted to the way Arthur looks at him like he’s the one holding all the cards even though he’s the one who’s been on his knees all night begging for more. Its almost too much when Arthur sits up abruptly, gathering him close when Alfred drops his hand from between his legs and clings to Arthur to keep from tumbling off the damned bed. Arthur laughs lowly, licks the clench of his jaw and bites into his mouth with a vicious kiss.   
  
Alfred falls into it as easily as he did when the game had only begun, groaning with surprise at the filthy, wicked press of Arthur’s thumb inside his body and the feeling of leather all over his ass, greedy hands kneading his skin and spreading him apart. Alfred rests his forehead on Arthur’s shoulder, muffling his laughter and his moans as he pushes down on Arthur’s thumb and murmurs, “Is that what a gentleman does with his Majesty’s special gloves?”   
  
Arthur slaps his ass and drags their mouths together, sucking on Alfred’s tongue and rocking his hips into the slick curve of Alfred’s ass. Alfred grinds in his lap, enjoys the slip-slide of his cock against the soft silk of Arthur’s shirt, and hopes he’s making a mess of all Arthur’s prim-proper finery.   
  
“You’ve obviously not spent enough time around royalty, love,” Arthur whispers, biting the lobe of his ear and slapping his ass again, adding stinging hot insult to injury. “Now, be still.”   
  
Alfred opens his mouth to protest or to beg—he can’t be too sure when all his blood has gone somewhere else and every thought he’s got is tangled up in wondering when Arthur’s going to fuck him—but then Arthur pushes the riding crop between his teeth and kisses the tip of his nose. Alfred bites the crop, worries his teeth into the leather and holds his breath as Arthur kisses his jaw, kisses his throat and pushes the head of his cock into the stretch of his ass.   
  
Alfred’s thighs shake as he tries not to shove down and take Arthur’s cock hard and fast, because Arthur’s hands are stroking his bruised bottom and Arthur’s eyelashes are fluttering against his cheek, the touch of each soft and gentle as Arthur fucks into him inch by inch. When Arthur moans into the hollow of his throat and there’s nothing left between them but sticky skin and a leather riding crop, Alfred opens his eyes and smiles.   
  
Arthur reaches up to caress his cheek, brushes the hair from his forehead and runs his fingers over the crop Alfred dutifully keeps between his teeth. Alfred rolls his hips, rides Arthur slowly because the backs of his thighs sting each time he touches Arthur’s still clothed thighs. Alfred thinks they must make quite a scene—-Alfred, entirely naked with stripes of pink and red across his ass, spread over the lap of English luxury, the taste of leather on his tongue, and Arthur buried inside his body.   
  
“Lovely,” Arthur sighs, nipping Alfred’s chin and curling his hand around Alfred’s cock. Alfred pushes anxiously into the stroke of his fingers, tightening around Arthur inside him and wishing Arthur would take the crop from his mouth so they could kiss as he came. Arthur shakes his head in warning, startling Alfred with the sudden roll of their bodies and the unexpected shock of the bed against his bruised skin. Alfred shouts, writhes, but Arthur presses two fingers over the crop to keep it between his lips and pushes back inside. Arthur fucks him roughly, snapping his hips and dipping his head to bite his collarbones, muttering,“Only a little longer.”  
  
Alfred tears at Arthur’s shirt, pulls his hair and arches off the mattress, chasing the teasing stroke of Arthur’s hand around his cock and wanting relief from the sting of the sheets against his skin. Arthur whispers to him, pours sweet, ridiculous words into his ear that have nothing and everything in common with the sharp, swift snap of his hips and the twist of his wrist as he brings Alfred off. Alfred closes his eyes, winds his arms around Arthur’s neck and comes with a muffled moan, the riding crop slipping from his mouth and falling between the tangled press of their bodies.   
  
“Yes, now,” Arthur gasps, kissing Alfred and taking what little breath he has left to share, swallowing his shuddering little groans and pinning his hands above his head so Alfred has no choice but to feel the burn of pleasure-pain. Alfred feels the sticky-wet of Arthur’s shirt against his naked chest and almost laughs when Arthur kisses the corner of his mouth and pleads,“Wait for me, love.”   
  
“Always,” Alfred promises, twining his legs around Arthur’s back and arching up to meet Arthur’s desperate, messy kiss. Alfred loves the ache of his body, the burn of Arthur all over. He whispers his affection into Arthur’s kiss and pours, “I love you,” into his mouth.

Arthur laces their fingers together, leather soft and warm against on his skin, breathes into Alfred’s mouth and comes.


End file.
